The Christmas Spirit
by Random Ruth
Summary: It's Christmas Eve and Reid has been infected with the Christmas Spirit. He brings it upon himself to spread cheer throughout the streets of Whitechapel, and to make sure his two friends are happy this Christmas. A slightly silly but festive one-shot.


**The Christmas Spirit**

* * *

On this Christmas Eve morn' Inspector Reid burst through the police station's doors with a determined expression upon his face. Artherton blinked over the rims of his spectacles. "Sir?" he asked, and Reid flounced over to greet him.

"Good morning, my good man!" said Reid, really loudly, as the rest of the station had no choice but to hear him. Reid took off his hat and prodded Artherton in the chest with it several times as he spoke. "It really is a fantastical day, is it not?"

"Er..." Artherton leaned slightly to one side to see past the inspector. "It's rainin', sir," he said.

"It is but snow that has already melted!" said Reid as he placed his hat back on his head.

"Are you all right?" asked Artherton.

Reid grinned and spun around on the spot. "Never better!"

"No, I mean, are you _sure_ you're all right?" Artherton leaned back a little with a sniff. "You didn't slip something into your brew this morning, did you, sir?" he finished almost in a whisper.

"_Drugs_?" Reid guffawed incredulously – and loudly. "I have not taken drugs. I have simply allowed the joys of the festive season to enter my person."

"What?"

Reid leaned over the desk to grasp Artherton heartily by the shoulders. "It's Christmas!" he said, and gave the desk sergeant a little shake. "Be happy! Are you happy, Artherton? Right this very moment, are you happy?" Reid squinted at him until Artherton realised he was supposed to answer.

"Well, erm, I suppose I am happy enough, sir, yes," Artherton spluttered. Reid shook him again and this time his spectacles were dislodged from his nose and rested upon his mighty beard.

"Then that is wonderful news, my friend, wonderful!"

Just then, a slightly hung-over Captain Jackson stumbled into the station, his eyes firmly on the floor. He yawned. And suddenly he was enveloped in a massive bear hug from the inspector. Jackson jumped and tried to squirm away. "What the hell, Reid?" was all he could say as Reid hung onto him. The other coppers in the station shared knowing glances with one another, and some money may or may not have been exchanged.

Eventually Reid let him go and stood back a step. "Are you happy, Captain Jackson?"

Jackson clamped a hand over the ear in closest proximity to Reid. "Damn it, not so loud," he muttered. "Happy? Do I look like a happy man to you, Reid?"

Reid took a few more steps back and he quite obviously scanned Jackson from hat to toe. He shook his head. "No, you do not look happy – this will not do," said Reid.

Jackson's eyes darted around the room, silently asking everyone, _What the hell is happening here?_ – but even Artherton had to shrug.

"Sir, there's some paperwork for you to sign in 'ere," said Sergeant Drake as he came out of Reid's office area. He only managed two more steps before he too was wrapped in inspector. Drake grimaced and wriggled, but Reid held on. The other coppers in the station were a little bit shocked – some shared knowing glances and money was most definitely exchanged.

"Are you happy, Drake?" asked Reid to Drake's shoulder.

Drake frowned, his blue searching gaze falling on Jackson, who shrugged. "Uh, I'm confused, sir," he said at last.

Reid broke off the hug and Drake could finally take a few deep breaths. "It's Christmas, Drake, and you have to be happy," said Reid, looking deep into Drake's eyes.

"You all right, sir?" questioned Drake.

Artherton put his hand in the air. "I think he's been infected with the Christmas Spirit," he piped up.

"Can I shoot it?" Jackson grumbled.

"I'm more than all right!" Reid shouted and Jackson winced. He flung one arm over Jackson's shoulder and the other over Drake's, hanging off them like a wet sock. "We're going to have fun this year!"

"How do we do that?" asked Drake, his face wrinkling in thought.

"We're going to a brothel?" Jackson said at the same time.

"No, no, Jackson –_ fun_! I personally invite you both to spend Christmas with me at my home," said Reid. "But we must prepare – immediately!" At that Reid let his friends and colleagues go, and ran out of the station with much enthusiasm for the task at hand, whatever it happened to be.

Drake and Jackson just looked at each other. "What was that?" Drake asked.

Reid stuck his head back through the door. "Well? You are coming?"

"Yeah, sure," said Jackson. Reid disappeared again. "Someone needs to keep an eye on that madman," he told Drake, who nodded.

"Artherton, you're in charge," Drake called as he and Jackson left. "And, uh, happy Christmas to you."

"Right, sir," Artherton nodded to their retreating heads. He waited until they were gone and the door closed behind them until he said, "Denis, you owe me thirty quid!"

* * *

"I'm posting the Christmas cards," said Reid as he pulled several envelopes out of his pocket and shoved them into the letter box. He clapped his hands together when he was done and turned to his friends. "There! That was fun."

"Fine," said Drake, in a tone that revealed he didn't find it all that entertaining. "What are we going to do now, then?"

"We need a turkey and a Christmas tree." Reid dashed off and Drake followed him, Jackson trailing behind and rubbing his temples. Reid stopped along the way to hand an urchin his hat with a blessing of season's greetings before continuing on his way. Jackson snatched it back off the boy's head as he passed.

There was a man beside the baker's selling Christmas trees, most shorter than a man to fit into the little houses of the poorer people of Whitechapel. Reid picked a tree out, an average-looking one that was small enough for someone to sling over his shoulder.

Drake looked at Jackson. He took a step back and held his palms up. "Uh-oh, no way. I'm looking after the hat," he said. Drake grumbled. It took a few attempts as the tree was slick from the rain but soon Drake's shoulder was as wet as the tree. Reid handed over a few soggy notes to the tree seller.

As they walked to Reid's house, Reid skipped ahead like a schoolgirl, only without the pigtails. Jackson walked along beside Drake. "So what plans did you have for Christmas, then, Jackson, before the inspector here scuppered 'em?" asked Drake.

"I was to wallow in alcohol and self-pity," said Jackson. "You?"

"The same."

Ahead, Reid stopped to hand another child a gift, this time an expensive-looking fountain pen. Jackson snatched it back and slipped it into his pocket. "How long do you think he'll be infected with this Christmas Spirit?"

If he didn't have a tree over his shoulder Drake would have shrugged. "You're supposed to be the medical man."

"I don't know!"

"Then we just wait. I think there's a good chance it'll wear off after Christmas," said Drake – being the one to carry the tree gave you many opportunities to ponder such things.

By the time they reached the house Drake was dragging the tree along the ground. He put it in a sawn-off barrel in the sitting room. It was dripping water onto the rug but Reid didn't seem to notice or care. Drake felt very uncomfortable with one wet and one dry shoulder. Reid had stopped at a fruit stall on the way and picked up some apples and oranges to decorate the tree with.

Jackson licked his lips, and snatched an apple from the tree. He took a noisy bite and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "These are good," he said with his mouth full.

"Don't eat my decorations, please," Reid said, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, that's right, Jackson," Drake added pointedly, swiftly hiding an orange behind his back, "don't eat the decorations."

Jackson pulled a face at him.

Reid stood from where he'd been kneeling by the tree. "We need a turkey. I'll go and see if I can find one. Are you both happy?" He gave them both a very scrutinising look. Jackson nodded, fearing what Reid would do if he got a negative answer.

"Yes, o' course," said Drake.

* * *

A few hours later, with the winter sun set, Drake lit the candles in Reid's sitting room. Jackson lounged by the crackling fire in one of Reid's armchairs, an almost empty bottle hanging from his lax hand. They heard the front door open, and few moments later, close.

"I've found a turkey!" Reid said from the hallway, and he seemed very pleased about it.

"Gobble, gobble," said the turkey.

Drake and Jackson both jerked their heads up at that, in time to watch Reid herding the turkey – the very much alive turkey – into the room, making shooing motions with his hands.

"It's a living one," Jackson said pointlessly. But he wasn't sure what else to say for once.

"Gobble, gobble," said the turkey again, and maybe it was the almost empty bottle in Jackson's hand, but he could have sworn it sounded offended.

Reid straightened and put his hands on his hips, keeping an eye on the turkey as it roamed the room. "Yeah, well, it's Christmas Eve – everywhere was sold out of turkeys _and_ geese. I had to go right to the edge of the city for this one."

"That's just great," muttered Jackson. "You gonna kill it, Reid?" he asked, louder.

The inspector squirmed just a little. "I don't... really want to kill it," he said.

"So we go hungry tomorrow," said Drake from where he was sat at the table.

Reid's eyes went wide. "No, no, don't be sad... I have some salted ham in the pantry, I think," he announced and he went off to fetch it.

"Alcohol, self-pity and salted ham!" Jackson said, waving his arms in the air.

"Not that far off from what you had planned, then," Drake said with a slight chuckle that made Jackson lift his eyebrow.

Reid came back into the room carrying the salted ham which he set on the table in front of Drake. "Are we happy, my friends?" he asked.

"Yeah," Jackson said from the fireplace.

"Yes," agreed Drake, and he was surprised to find that it wasn't a lie.

The turkey stood in front of the fire and stared at Jackson. Jackson reached over for Reid's hat and placed it on the turkey's head.

"Gobble, gobble," said the turkey, which, roughly translated, means 'merry Christmas'.

* * *

**The End – Gobble, Gobble!**


End file.
